


Staircases

by artisan447



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-19
Updated: 2006-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:59:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisan447/pseuds/artisan447
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story was written during mini-nanowrimo 2006, and was prompted by this inspiration pic from Nov 12:</p><p><a href="http://pics.livejournal.com/ms_artisan/pic/000027rr/">
<img/></a></p>
    </blockquote>





	Staircases

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written during mini-nanowrimo 2006, and was prompted by this inspiration pic from Nov 12:
> 
> [ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ms_artisan/pic/000027rr/)

**Staircases**

 

_Fuck._

A misfire.

Eye still glued to the sight he didn't flinch or shift focus from the target, just jacked the faulty cartridge from the chamber and set up for the next shot. It took barely a second but it was still too long.

Balanced on one knee with scant cover on the raised catwalk, the first slug took him square in the chest and the second grazed his temple as he went down. It snapped his head back and semi-conscious, he went over the low railing in free-fall, tumbling out of control.

He was aware enough to hope the rapid burst of gunfire from below was his side taking out the last of the dealers rather than one of them finishing the job, but not enough to stabilise or control his body. When the rope snapped tight it wrenched the harness and tore a groan from his already bruised chest.

Arms and legs hanging loose, head flung back, he couldn't do anything more than dangle helplessly and fight for every breath.

"Vin!"

Self-protection said he needed to move. He cracked open both eyes, dizzy and disoriented, but the whole world flipped and spun and he slammed them shut tight, left with an impression of bright yellow light and endless overlapping staircases.

"Tanner!" The voices faded in and out and only added to his confusion. Time seemed to slow and stretch and he knew nothing of what passed, only that there was no further assault on his exposed body.

He needed to move, but he was as helpless as a fish on a line and could do no more than flail his limbs around and gasp against the almost unbearable pressure in his chest and back and head.

"Let him down slow."

Sounded like Chris, and surely he couldn't be hurt as bad as it seemed if he could still pick the angry tension in that voice? Strange -- how could he hear Chris in his ear if he was still floating in mid air?

Gentle hands caught and steadied and at last there was the blessed relief of a solid surface under his back as someone removed his headset.

Right, headset; that would explain the voice in his ear.

"Vin?" That was Nathan, and he groaned again as his neck and head were steadied and straightened.

"Jesus, Nate!" He could do no more than gasp out the words; and he wanted to puke with the pain.

"Easy, pard," Chris again. Vin forced his lids open, searching, and the pale face swam into view, more hands working at his vest.

"We're all done and clear, relax now," Chris instructed, the anger replaced by worry, then his head turned and he spoke at a space above Vin's head. "Nate?"

"He's all right. Vest caught one slug and his hard head deflected the other. Scalp's bleeding like a stuck pig, but should stitch up ok." The hands moved firm but gentle around his neck and back and if he could've lifted an arm he would have swatted them away. "Probably got himself a hell of a whiplash, though."

Nathan's face in front of his now, and damn if he wasn't seeing double. "Vin?" the medic queried, "neck and back hurting some?"

"Like a son of a bitch," he rasped out the words and let his eyes fall closed against the dizziness and the pain that seemed to build with every heartbeat. Felt like it was alive, the way it ran the length of his spine, stole his breath and throbbed in time with the pounding in his head and chest.

A strong hand, firm and steady slid into his. He closed his fingers around it and the tension slid away a little.

"Anything to avoid the paperwork, hey Tanner?" Came the low voice in his ear. For real, this time, no headset required.

"Fuck you, Larabee," he forced out and squeezed the fingers in reassurance, smiling at the final whispered rejoinder.

"Anytime, pard."

  
\--- the end ---

  



End file.
